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The time difference between Israel and the East Coast of the United States is seven hours, which means that I woke up yesterday morning to learn that Osama Bin Laden had been killed by US forces at some point during the night. This being the age of new media, it’s probably not terribly surprising to anyone that I discovered this bit of news via my Facebook feed (with Lisa Goldman having the dubious distinction of being the bearer of such tidings, since her status update was the first one I read). The news websites confirmed the information that my Facebook friends (and indeed, my Twitter feed as well) were sharing – some rather giddily, and the images I saw on television shortly thereafter showed Americans in front of the White House celebrating and singing.

Photo courtesy of www.upi.com

I didn’t cheer, nor did I jump for joy or break into spontaneous singing of a national anthem. I wasn’t sorry to hear the news, but I also found it distasteful to watch people joyously celebrating someone’s death, and in the same raucous manner that one might celebrate a major sports victory. I can’t share the view of some of my friends who believe his death was wrong, or that he should have been brought to justice instead. I think that sometimes, as disturbing as this type of retribution might be, it may be the most sensible response to a situation whose components defy the most basic elements of logic, reason and humanity that most people hold dear, regardless of nationality, religion or any other circumstances that define who we are as individuals and members of the human race. (more…)

As an expat living in a country I love, I know that I will never feel 100% at home in either place and will always feel that I’m being tugged back and forth between them in so many ways.

I was very shy and socially awkward as a kid, and had a difficult time making friends. It got better as I got older, but I’m still shy, and quite often, I’m still the quietest person in the room/group – something many people who only know me online have a hard time believing.

I have threedifferentversions of the aria “Nessun Dorma” on my regular playlist, and no matter which version I listen to, it never fails to completely take over my senses and inspire me.

On my recent return flight to Israel, I listened to Andrea Bocelli‘s “Sogno” four times in succession as the plane came in for a landing. It affects me in much the same way that “Nessun Dorma” does (and Bocelli’s version of “Nessun Dorma” is my favorite).

When Bocelli sings certain songs in Italian, I can lose myself completely in the beauty. It overcomes me almost to the point of tears.

I hate roller coasters, but rode the Air Grover kiddie roller coaster at Busch Gardens – Tampa six times in a row because my son wanted to. By the third time, I was able to open my eyes during the drops and turns.

The Air Grover I rode was a roller coaster. Get your minds out of the gutter!

Butt. Poop. Budge. Intrigued? Amused? Slightly repulsed? Join the club. These were just three of the new words that the Little One learned to use with great gusto during his two weeks in an American day camp last month. Of course, it now seems like ages since we were in the US, but the reality is that we’ve been back for just over a week.

Truly, we had a month filled with escapades and exploits, not to mention what certainly seemed to be more than our fair share of encounters of the watery kind. We managed to squeeze in three days by the Delaware Water Gap with dear friends, rafting down the Delaware (and reveling in an onslaught of happy memories of long lost summers in a camp just up the road), sightseeing, eating, drinking (which seemed to happen with greater frequency than usual, though rarely in excess), and being quite merry. As much as I can be merry, that is…

We made it to two amusement parks. One was small and close to home, where I had the privilege to meet up with two old school friends (both of whom could probably make a fortune by selling their secrets for not aging) and their gorgeous children – a four year-old girl and a four-and-a-half year old boy. It was wonderful to spend time with these fabulous women, and the children really seemed to enjoy each other’s company. Until “the incident”, that is. Until a certain four-year-old girl (who will most certainly be keeping her parents perpetually on their toes, and who has been voted most likely to throw a house party when her parents are out of town, though hopefully not until she’s at least seven or so) tried to hug and kiss the Little One goodbye. Oh, the horror!

Imagine this scene, if you will – a beautiful little girl chasing an increasingly frantic Little One in circles around me, with the Little One calling out (in English, albeit with a slightly Israeli accent), “no Mommy! I don’t want!” I just know he’s going to regret this when he’s a hormonal sixteen year-old looking over my shoulder at pictures of her when she’s 15 and stunning, as she inevitably will be. Our girl was apparently not used to being rejected so firmly, as she later commented to her mother, “why wouldn’t that boy let me kiss him? If he had, he’d have seen that it was ok…” High-fiving the little boy goodbye in the parking lot appeared to be acceptable, however, and I was charmed to learn that he asked his mother before going to sleep later that evening if she thought that “his new friends missed him”. If he considers me to be one of his new friends, then the answer to that question would be a resounding “yes”.

And then there was day camp. Two action-packed, fun-filled weeks at the local JCC day camp, and while camp is probably deserving of its very own post, you’ll have to make due with a few of the highlights.

The Little One earned a certificate at the end of the session for having received a high number of stickers given out to campers for being nice. His counselors couldn’t get over how nice he was or how polite he was, always holding doors for everyone. Who’d have guessed that the Israeli kid would beat out the American kids in such a category?

Thanks to two weeks of swimming lessons and free swim sessions, the Little One is no longer afraid to go in the water by himself, and is quite happy to show anyone who’d care to watch that he can put his head under water. Hurrah! Now I just have to figure out why he doesn’t actually move when he swims…

As in most Jewish camps, the campers learn songs in Hebrew. In the Little One’s case, the songs were taught by an American, which resulted in him coming home one day singing songs in Hebrew with an American accent. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t persuade him that he wasn’t singing in English, but rather in American-accented Hebrew.

Despite being a Jewish-themed camp, approximately half the campers weren’t Jewish. My parents even noted at the open house prior to our arrival that there were several mothers in hijab. In practical terms, this meant that every morning, little Muslim children were starting off the day by singing Hatikvah, Israel’s national anthem, learning about Judaism and Israel, and picking up words and songs in Hebrew. And if you think that’s amusing, you’re really going to roll your eyes over…

Occupation Day. One day of the session was dedicated to campers talking about what they wanted to be when they grew up. Personally, I’d have gone for a less explosive term like “Profession Day”, but hey. That’s just me. I can still remember reading the weekly email update to see what special events were on the schedule when suddenly, there it was. Occupation Day. “Huh?” I read on. “Ohhhhhh. I get it now.” Only in America can you find Muslim campers in a Jewish day camp, singing Hatikvah and celebrating Occupation Day (alongside their Jewish friends, no less). Positively heartwarming, isn’t it?

Clearly, it’s very difficult to do justice to a month-long journey in one (rather long) blog post. Therefore, I’ve decided to spare you the blow-by-blow description and throw in yet another list of highlights, given that it worked so well above. For those of you in the know, feel free to add other choice vignettes to the comments.

For only the second time in all of our years living abroad, NRG and I managed to coordinate our trips “home”. Our sons – born only 17 days apart – bonded just as we’d hoped they would. Not that we’d have given them much of a choice… We spent part of the fourth of July together as well as a day at Six Flags Great Escape. A great day was had by all, despite the forecast of rain (20 minutes in the afternoon, when we were already in the water park) and the second mortgage required to pay for food, beverages and games. Oh, and if anyone tells you that you can easily navigate around the falling/shooting water on the Lazy River, I can vouch for the fact that they are l-y-i-n-g. Trust me…
Despite our busy schedules, we managed to get together several times. What we did not do, however, was go to the greatly anticipated Billy Joel-Elton John concert. It was canceled. Or rather, postponed. Obviously, a postponement didn’t really help us. Apparently, Billy Joel was sick, and his doctor ordered him to rest. We were devastated. Gutted. We went out to dinner instead, and our waiter, while sympathetic to our plight, was not willing to sing any Billy Joel or Elton John songs, despite our attempts to convince him otherwise.

On our last night, we took the Little One to a restaurant called The Pasta Factory in order to catch an old high school friend of mine in action. The Little One, who was initially rather disgruntled over the fact that we wouldn’t take him to Chuck E. Cheese (damn those television commercials!) , warmed up to Mr. Twisty right away, giggling and laughing at his jokes and balloon skills while I managed to sneak in a few adult conversations between gags. If you’re in the area, definitely check this guy out. He’s a consummate professional and a really nice guy. I guarantee he’ll make you laugh.

I won’t bore you with the gory details, but suffice it to say that there was a lot of shopping. Clothing aside, I finally managed to find a suitable laptop bag, which definitely wasn’t easy! If you’re looking for a functional (read ugly) laptop bag that looks like a laptop bag, you’ll have lots to choose from. If, however, you are a woman looking for something stylish, something that doesn’t really look like a laptop bag, well, good luck with that. Definitely a hole in the market on this one, folks.
In addition to the laptop bag, I joined the ranks of iPod owners, acquiring a sexy little iPod Touch as a birthday present from my parents. I’ve loaded it up with applications, photos, podcasts, games and music, and honestly can’t understand how I never thought to buy one before my mother suggested it as a possible gift. What beauty… What functionality… Sigh…
And of course, all the tiny empty spaces in our suitcases were filled with aliens of the “cytoquada” kind. We are now the proud owners of an alien creation chamber, an Omnitrix, and a wide assortment of colorful, scary little creatures and other related paraphernalia.

All in all, this was definitely one of our more successful trips to the US. We are finally over our jet lag (three cheers for vodka – hurrah!), and the Little One is once again using more Hebrew than English (though the words “butt” and “poop” still pop up with dizzying regularity). My heart is full. My wallet is empty. And so begins our return to normal life. Normal being a relative term, of course…

The “Petite” department in South Florida clothing stores is often geared more towards older women who have shrunk than younger women who have always been short.

Square footage of one’s personal space in America is greater than the square footage of my bathroom. Square footage of one’s personal space in Israel is smaller than the square footage of my toilet (and often just as soiled – did I say that out loud?). This means that in America, people will say excuse me for entering the same aisle as you in the supermarket, even if they are nowhere near you (by Israeli standards, anyway).

Starbucks is to coffee what McDonald’s is to food. Would you like fries with that?

Air France flight attendants were nicer than expected. I can’t be absolutely certain, though, since they rarely spoke to us in English, despite the uncomprehending looks on our faces when they addressed us in French.

Only in New York City can you save money by staying with friends while simultaneously forking over a sum of money equal to or greater than the cost of a hotel room (outside of NYC, of course!) to put your car in the closest parking garage.

Where else but Super Target could you purchase a digital video camera, children’s clothing, patio furniture (not that I did, but I could have), groceries, a Starbucks latte (from the in-store Starbucks branch), shoes and luggage? I briefly considered picking up some sushi, but then asked myself if I really wanted to buy sushi in a place that also sells feminine hygiene products. The answer was no, of course. Being offered fries with your burger is one thing. Tampons with your tekka maki, on the other hand… I did, however, take a chocolate chip cookie.

For some folks in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, a fancy evening out means donning your finest outfit and eating your weight in fried foods at Shoney’s. Would you like fries with that?

I do not conquer jet lag very well. We returned to Israel on Thursday afternoon (noting from the airplane while in Israeli airspace that nearly every green patch within view was filled with parked cars and Israelis barbecuing and celebrating Israel’s Independence Day), and while I dropped from exhaustion shortly before 12:30am and woke up at 10am when the telephone rang, Friday night was a challenge, and last night was a disaster, as I fell asleep only once daylight set in and the birds began to chirp (starting at around 5 am or so, for those of you not in the know). Who knew that birds could be so damned annoying…

I swear to you that I started to write at least half-a-dozen posts (or at least half of a half-dozen) while in the US, but needless to say, I was easily distracted and didn’t get around to finishing any of them. It never ceases to amaze me that vacation time can pass so quickly, while at the same time, events from just a few weeks earlier can seem like a lifetime ago. The day we arrived feels like a distant memory on the one hand, yet it still somehow seems like yesterday that we landed at Newark Airport without our luggage. By the way, we did receive the luggage the day after we arrived in Sarasota, after being told rather conspiratorially by one baggage service agent that another agent (who’d been rather rude to us one day earlier) was a “bitter, bitter man who hated his job and hated luggage”…

We were gone for a month, and while it sounds like a long time, no matter how long I’m there, it’s just never long enough. This was especially true for this visit, made more hectic by the fact that we were in both Florida and New York, and a veritable plethora of spots in between. I loved St. Augustine, Florida, where we took a trolley ride around the city and I drank from the Fountain of Youth (which may or may not explain why everyone tells me I look rested – maybe I just look younger). The Luray Caverns left me speechless, and many pictures were taken by all, including the Little One, who would preface every request to hand over the camera with, “ooooh! Wow! Mommy, look at that one!” The Great Smoky Mountains (where a young Israeli traveling with his parents offered in Hebrew to take a picture of our family at Clingmans Dome) and the Blue Ridge Parkway were stunning, and Lancaster, Pennsylvania was great fun, though probably more on account of the fact that we were with close friends than because of the area itself, given that we were there in the off-season.

We traveled, visited with friends and family, shopped (not nearly enough), and ate (far too much). Most of all, we took great pleasure in watching the Little One acclimate to and enjoy his surroundings, playing with family and friends and feeling more and more at ease in the English language with each passing day. I know that he understands everything, but with each trip, I hold my breath, waiting to see how he handles the switch, waiting to see how long it takes him to speak more English than Hebrew. Initially shy and hesitant, we knew that we’d turned a corner when he responded to Bob the Builder’s usual query of “can we fix it?” with “absolutely!” And, while I’m rather pleased that he’s calling me “Mommy” these days, I can’t say the same is true of my husband, who greatly prefers “Aba” to “Dad” or “Daddy”, said with an American accent that neither I nor my parents have.

If I were to make an educated guess as to what the highlight of our visit was for the Little One, I’d say our trip to Disney World, where we spent a few precious moments with the current objects of my son’s affection – Buzz, Woody and Jessie, looking on with wide-eyed admiration, exchanging hugs and posing for pictures. And that was just me… Not that the kid is obsessed or anything, but when we returned from the US, among our vast number of purchases, one could find two Buzz Lightyear action figures (one big, one small), one Woody (small), Buzz Lightyear/Toy Story sneakers, pajamas, short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts, one baseball cap, one video game, and the DVD of Toy Story 2. Rather scary, no? It’s so easy to succumb to the temptation, though, especially when it comes to all things Disney, where the attention to detail and customer service is nothing short of spectacular, so much so that you almost don’t mind notice the fact that you’ve given them the better part of your bank account just by crossing over the threshold into their wonderful world of Disney.